The Library of the Unwritten

by A J Hackwith

  Claire crossed her arms. There was a distant tick-tick-tick of claws as ravens shifted in their cages. Leto could see a subtle tic in Andras’s bearded cheek as he met her stare.

  Claire swept up the bag, snagging the scrap before Andras could protest. She turned on her heel and strode toward the doors. Andras gaped, first at Claire, then at Leto. Then he broke into a run after her. “Pup! Librarian! Claire! Stop this instant!”

  “Come along, Leto,” Claire called, not slowing her pace before she raised her voice to a level that sent the ravens chattering and raced a chill down Leto’s spine. “LUCIFER.”

  “Don’t be a fool!” Andras was faster than his gray hair indicated he should be and he bolted after her. Leto had to sprint to keep them in sight as they sped down the hall. If Claire was summoning him, then he wasn’t really sure he wanted to catch up.

  “No, this is ridiculous. I won’t tolerate— BELIAL.”

  “Claire—listen—”

  “MORNINGSTAR. GET DOWN HERE.”

  “Claire!”

  “IBLIS. LORD OF—”

  “Do you want to start a war?” Andras caught hold of Claire’s shoulders at the base of the stairs. He let go just as quickly under Claire’s withering glare. “You don’t want to do this, pup. We can’t tell him this has surfaced in the hands of an angel.”

  Tension trembled through Claire’s jaw and her fingers clenched around the plastic bag. “You have one minute to tell me one good reason why. And without using ‘girl’ or ‘pup,’ or I’ll walk right out of here, Andras. I mean it.”

  Leto came to a stop a step away. Andras jerked his hands away from Claire’s shoulders and raked a hand through his striped hair. “Consider the facts, Claire. Somehow, a book of Hell resurfaced after all this time and found its way into Heaven’s hands. They very likely don’t know what they have, but they sent nothing less than Ramiel after it. Thunder of God, a bloody Watcher. Fallen or not, unforgiven or not, he’s no errand boy. Now think it through. What will happen if you report this to the court?”

  Claire sniffed. “They’ll send us after it, obviously. Just as they did before. And this time I will do a proper job.”

  “They sent the Library after it when it was merely an embarrassing personal secret of Lucifer’s, held by humans. You know your history, Librarian. What happens when you scare powerful people who have armies? What does the court of Hell do when Heaven moves against them?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Color fled Claire’s cheeks. “This is a book. They wouldn’t—”

  “We’ve gone to war over less. I was there.” Andras said the word “there” in a way that conjured yawning voids and loss. Leto shuddered.

  Claire threw up her hands. “That’s unnecessary. This is a book. Lucifer knows we could much more effectively—”

  “He might, but the court wouldn’t. You know their opinion of the Library, run by a mere human and a washed-up demon?” Andras’s tone turned brittle and bitter. “We’re pawns, squatters on top of desirable treasures. They wouldn’t just not trust us—they’d take the opportunity to prove us incompetent, to pillage the Library.”

  Claire paused, as if losing her footing. “To put the Library above the realm—”

  “What about Earth?”

  “What?”

  “Think,” Andras snapped. “Even if the greedy lot can pull their tails out of their arses long enough to follow the trail and do the job, where do you think this will be settled?”

  Andras scrutinized Claire for a response. She stilled, flicking a concerned glance toward Leto. Andras looked as if he’d scored a point. “Do you see now why reporting this is foolhardy?”

  Leto saw Claire’s chin rise almost imperceptibly, the stubborn steel that he’d begun to recognize as the librarian’s will coming to bear. “To the courts, perhaps, but if we approached this as a private matter with him . . .”

  “The Purge.”

  Claire stopped. “That was an entirely different scenario.”

  “The what?” Leto felt his confusion had reached a breaking point.

  “A . . . tragedy in Hell’s history.” Claire scowled at Andras. “A fool librarian challenged Lucifer for dominion of the Library. Tried to claim independence and lost. She . . . Well, the books were preserved, but the entire Library was remade, sealed. It spurred a line of book burnings on Earth—if you’ve ever heard of the Library of Alexandria, she was born of that time. I suppose he wanted to punish her where it hurt. The muses were in an uproar. It was chaos until the Library had a proper librarian again. Tragic but beside the point, because we are not challenging anyone.”

  “Test it if you wish.” Andras gave a soft shrug. “But our fool king went to quite a lot of trouble to keep the codex out of Hell the first time around. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s eliminated his own people to protect a secret. I’d rather not go through that again.”

  Claire’s fingers worked a silent calculation, twitching around the bag in her grasp. “Suppose we don’t seek Lucifer’s sanction on it. It’s still an arcane object, presumably on Earth, and a danger to humanity as well as the rest of us. That’s your responsibility to act.”

  Andras’s smile eased. “It can’t be ignored. You were right about that. I would be happy to chase this artifact and return it to Hell before it can do more damage. But the last time this book was hunted, the Library did it together, Arcane and Unwritten. Why is that? I wonder.”

  Claire narrowed her eyes. “We have a dispensation when books are lost, yes. But this isn’t one of mine, and I’m not a demon. I can’t do this unsanctioned. We just returned the only book—”

  “Returned with how much time still on your ghostlight?”

  “Most of a day but . . . Oh. No. You can’t be serious.” Leto briefly wondered how the Arcanist had kept such close tabs on today’s events, or if it was public knowledge. Claire voiced the larger problem. “We would still need Walter’s help to travel.”

  Andras tapped his lip. “Walter holds transport to the mortal realms, but where would you start looking for the Devil’s Bible, Librarian?”

  “I would . . .” Claire hesitated as she appeared to give the question the full measure of her attention. “The angel found us in Seattle, but I suspect that’s because he was chasing any demonic activity. He seemed surprised to find us. That means his leads ran out. No, the pages might be on Earth, but we would have to start with information on how they went missing. You say Bjorn the Bard was the librarian who retrieved it, but . . .”

  Both Claire and Andras went silent, and Leto lost his patience. “But what?”

  “Bjorn’s not a librarian anymore. Not even in Hell. He did his time in the Library, and his soul found rest. And he was of the old beliefs, so . . .” Claire raised her brows at Andras. “If we wanted to talk to Bjorn, we would have to find him . . . in Valhalla?”

  “In Valhalla.”

  “Ravens?” Claire was curious.

  “Ravens.” Andras was certain.

  “Ravens?” Leto was confused.

  An unsettling smile, sharp and resigned, tugged at Claire’s mouth. “I thought you were retired from the game, Arcanist.”

  Andras chuckled. “I can be induced, for a good cause and a lovely face.”

  Claire ignored the flattery. “And to sate your curiosity about a secret, I imagine.”

  “Well, now, that would just be a bonus for an old man’s entertainment, pup.”

  Claire glanced once at Leto, and he gave her what he hoped was a nod of support. She sighed. “Where do we start?”

  “With the raven road, of course,” Andras said.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  A BRIEF ARGUMENT ENSUED, which was settled only when Claire invoked some obscure rule of conduct that Leto had never heard of. Andras threw up his hands and disappeared back into the cluttered shadows of his w
ing, and Claire resumed her atrociously fast stride up the stairs the way they’d come. Leto found himself winded by the third flight. Librarians were exhausting.

  “Miss Librarian? What’s happening now?”

  “We’ve drowned together, Leto. You can call me Claire.”

  “What’s happening now, Claire?”

  “I believe”—Claire gave the gargoyle a pat as they rounded the corner into the familiar maze of halls that led to the Unwritten Wing—“now I am about to become a very bad role model for you. If you really are a demon, this is the point where you should probably be running off to tattle on us.”

  Leto reached up to rub the point of one ear. “I don’t think I want to tattle after what Andras said.”

  “Me neither, unfortunately,” Claire said with a sigh.

  Leto considered the Arcanist and fought back his unease about being around another demon. “You said he was a . . . a duke?”

  “Was. Once.” Claire gave a tight-lipped smile. “Before I knew him, he was a high duke in Hell’s court. Very highly respected, commanded legions, and was Lucifer’s right hand. Demon of Confessions, I think. He was ousted in a political coup more than a hundred years ago. Demons love nothing more than their political games; never stand between a demon and a rise to power.”

  “Isn’t that where you said the Library is now?”

  Claire made a face. “Yes. Aren’t you a fast learner? In any case, Andras survived but withdrew from the court to lick his wounds. He eventually took over the role of curator for the Arcane Wing. He’s a demon, yes, but retired from the court. He’s always been a supporter of the Library. He . . . ah, he helped me out a good deal when I was a new librarian. He taught me a lot.”

  A memory, a pain, a regret, all flicked over Claire’s face, too rapid-fire for Leto to comment on. He stared at his hands. One claw had a hangnail. He worried at it. “But I still don’t know what I’m supposed to—I mean, you said we’re going to go after this thing?”

  Claire slowed so suddenly that Leto nearly ran into her back. She cast a glance toward the Library entrance, then pulled him to one side. “This isn’t like fetching the hero’s book, Leto. This is going to get . . . complicated.”

  “I had a feeling.”

  “I’ll be doing something which may upset the rest of Hell. The Library’s always been a bit separate. . . .”

  “I understand.”

  “But you’re not part of the Library.” Leto’s face fell, and Claire closed her eyes briefly. “I mean, you’re welcome here, but you don’t have to be part of this. It’s going to be dangerous. Even if we manage to accomplish what we intend, when we get back, we’ll be . . . You should leave while you can.”

  “Where do I go?” The question sounded more pitiful than Leto had intended, but it was out of his mouth before he could think. Panic began to edge its way up the back of his throat, and he tried to envision what leaving the Library meant. His first real memory of this place was of being a demon messenger sent to Claire’s desk. Everything before that was . . . darkness, fear, self-loathing. A coil of despairing acid in his throat. He’d rather do anything than that.

  “You could stay at the Library, until we return. Plenty to read,” Claire offered.

  “You said demons aren’t librarians because we can’t handle the nature of the books.” He looked down at his clenched hands.

  “Leto . . . you’re not a demon. You’re—”

  “I was sent to you. And you’re the only one who’s even tried to tell me the truth. You . . . you’re the only assignment I have. Until that changes, I’m staying.” Leto tried to sound confident rather than pleading. He chewed on his bottom lip as he saw Claire’s normally brittle brown eyes soften. Sympathy, pity. It wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want to be protected, to shield himself from hurtful truths. Not again. It felt the opposite of being human. He wanted . . . “I want to help. Please.”

  Claire swept her gaze over Leto once before nodding slightly. “Okay. All right. I did say you were a fast learner.” She started down the corridor again. “Next lesson: move quickly.”

  9

  RAMIEL

  When you consider all the realms of the afterlife, there are aberrations. To a librarian, Heaven is a large aberration. It seems curious that one of the grandest, most belief-fueled realms of paradise does not possess a library of its own.

  In the minds of its believers, Heaven must be perfect. Absent nothing, regretting nothing, wanting nothing. It makes sense, then, that Heaven has no wing of our library.

  What is a story without want, without desire, without need?

  Librarian Gregor Henry, 1896 CE

  “THIS IS, QUITE OBVIOUSLY, unacceptable.”

  Ramiel had, frankly, expected more of an outburst from Uriel. He’d delivered his report of the encounter on Earth, standing stock straight in the center of the archangel’s office, bracing for the anger he knew was coming. But Uriel had merely listened, giving him the full measure of her ageless, infinite attention until he fell silent.

  In some ways, that was much worse.

  “You not only allowed our best leads to escape, but you lost our only evidence and means to pursue.” Uriel toyed with a small compass in her hands without looking at it, her stern gaze reserved for Rami. The sharp edges of the navigator’s tool flickered and slid between her fingers like a blade.

  “We still have leads—”

  “What leads?” Uriel interrupted, voice level but knuckles white as the compass stilled. “Do tell me, Watcher, how we can locate these librarians when they possess the artifact.”

  There were no ways, not in the magics Rami understood. He held his tongue.

  “What’s more, the fact that you were bested by a dead woman and a—what? A demonic servant who could mug you like taking candy from a cherub?” Uriel shook her head. “It’s a stain on Heaven. Was it sympathy? Your fondness for humans from your time as shep—”

  “Souls!” Uriel’s glare could melt galaxies, but Rami swallowed and pushed forward. “Hell’s librarian is a human soul.”

  When Watchers had served Heaven, Ramiel had been the Thunder of God . . . and the shepherd. Sent to lost souls to shepherd them to the afterlife. No soul stayed lost under Rami’s care. The conclusion lit Uriel’s eyes with a strange, sharp glimmer. “You can track her?”

  “Not while she’s in Hell or another realm,” Rami admitted. The lost status of a soul was critical. “But if she strays to Earth again or travels the roads between, I should be able to narrow our options. Without a divine mandate, however, it will take some time.”

  A smile curdled Uriel’s expression, a strange and unnatural look. Rami had thought winning Uriel’s approval would be satisfying, but instead it felt startling, like a show of claws. “Make your preparations. The fact remains that we must move forward quickly to catch up. We know Hell’s Library has it. May, in fact, have the whole thing. I’m not giving the victory to the Betrayer that easily,” Uriel said. “In the meantime, we’ll start with the other realms she’d be likely to rabbit to. The major ones: Duat, Jannah, Valhalla, Indralok. We have passage agreements with most realms of paradise. If we’re very fast and very blessed, we’ll catch the scent.”

  Rami abruptly felt less an angel and more a hunting dog. But one look at Uriel’s hungry smile and he held his tongue. “And if we catch up with the librarian?”

  “Ascertain whether she has the rest of the codex. Follow and impede if she does not. Hell cannot be allowed to acquire this book. And if she has it already . . .” Again, Uriel twirled the silver compass in her palm. She abruptly flipped her grip and drove the point into the desk. “She serves Hell. She is already damned. If the librarian seeks salvation, then Heaven’s justice will purify her.”

  10

  CLAIRE

  Of course there are other libraries. The Unwritten is just one wing, though one of the
largest. There are wings of poetry, wings of songs, wings of dying words and visions. The libraries maintain a prickly kind of alliance, separated by realms. If one library falls, it could signal the end for them all. The Library stands together.

  The only exception to note is the Dust Wing, which houses all the works created and lost to time. But the less said about that dark hall, the better.

  Librarian Bjorn the Bard, 1630 CE

  It is our duty to maintain a cordial yet professional relationship with the other libraries. If only for the sake of the interworld loan. But one library wing is not like another. Do not trust librarians serving other tales.

  Apprentice Librarian Yoon Ji Han, 1791 CE

  SOMETIMES, WHEN CLAIRE ALLOWED herself a moment to reflect on the absurdity of her fate, she wished she could find the soul of old Father Roderick. It was one of the few memories she’d kept. He’d presided over her family’s parish and instilled in her, at the wicked age of eight, the deep fear of damnation of her immortal soul. She drifted away from it, as many children did, and grew up into a comfortable agnostic, or as much as was proper for the time. But now, literally residing in Hell, she wished to revisit those old conversations with Father Roderick. Father Roderick, who taught her the necessity of good Catholic guilt. In the end, guilt and self-recrimination were the worst sins for a soul.

  What would the good father think to see her? Her current position in Hell was entirely due to her own soul’s self-imposed judgment. She dealt daily with condemned souls and demons because her own soul didn’t believe she deserved better.

  And perhaps the most scandalous thing she could tell Father Roderick was, frankly, how comfortable it was. She had regrets, deep regrets, yes, about how she’d lived her life, the time she’d wasted. They were why she’d ended up in the Library. But the afterlife she’d built up was more than acceptable. The start had been rough, and there were the mistakes she made, hauntings she still pretended not to have. She was not completely insulated from Hell here in the Library.